Chapter 7
The Hatake compound loomed in front of him. Sukea’s gaze lingered on the humble estate, an odd tightness settling in his chest. It had been decades since he last set eyes on it. He’d barely come by since he moved out after he graduated from the Academy. Every ryo of mission pay had gone toward securing the apartment he’d kept for most of his life. The Hatake estate had always been too big, too empty, too much for a child to maintain, let alone call home.
He had only ever returned when necessity demanded it—a tool, a scroll, a training manual. Even then, most of its contents had remained untouched before being lost forever. In Sukea’s time, nothing had survived the Kyūbi’s attack.
But here, now, the house remained. Unchanged.
Kakashi barely spared him a glance before pushing past, heading straight for a side door. The panel groaned in protest as he tried to slide it open, the wood stubbornly stuck in its tracks from disuse. He scowled and braced himself for another attempt. It had clearly been a while since he’d been here, too.
Sukea sighed and moved to help. Together, they forced the door open with just a bit too much effort—it slammed aside with a heavy thud, sending a tremor through the frame. Dust was dislodged and billowed outward in a thick cloud.
Sukea adjusted his mask higher on his face, thankful he hadn’t bothered with his persona today. The air was thick with the smell of loose dust, stale wood and dry parchment and it took Sukea a few moments to even recognize the room as the main storage room.
Kakashi stepped inside without hesitation, picking his way through the clutter toward a rack of scrolls. Sukea followed, watching as he selected several on sword techniques. He squinted at the titles, noting the advanced styles Kakashi had grabbed.
“Not today,” Sukea said, plucking the scrolls from the boy’s hands and shoving them back onto the shelf. He selected a few more beginner-friendly ones and dropped them into Kakashi’s arms.
Kakashi scowled. “You’re holding me back. I can handle those.”
“We’re both learning today,” Sukea countered, raising an eyebrow. “And I want to start with these to go back over the basics since I’m rusty, so deal with it.”
Kakashi huffed but didn’t argue further.
“Now… a weapon,” Sukea murmured, his gaze drifting to the racks of blades lining the room.
The Hatake clan had been samurai long before they were shinobi, and the room reflected that history. Training blades and real swords, left behind by generations of warriors, now sat unused, collecting dust and rust. The sight of them made Sukea uneasy. He’d only ever really used his father's sword or ones picked out by the ANBU weapons specialist.
He hesitated, his hand hovering over a worn hilt. It would’ve been better to commission a new sword, but that would take time. More importantly, it would imply that kenjutsu was something he wanted to pursue seriously—not just a way to help Kakashi solidify his Hatake kenjustu basics, something Sukea himself had never properly done.
Finally, he picked up the first blade in front of him and gave it a tentative swing. Way too heavy. He grabbed another. The balance was off. Another. The hilt felt wrong in his grip.
“I’m going to the training grounds to start,” Kakashi announced, clearly losing patience.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Sukea replied, waving him off as he continued his search.
The problem with secondhand equipment, Sukea mused, was that none of it was tailored for you. Sometimes, you just had to find the least-worst option.
Eventually, he found a blade that felt right—light enough for his size, with decent balance and a grip that didn’t chafe. It was far from perfect: the blade was dirty, and there was a noticeable nick near the tip. Worse, he knew he would have to do this all again once the growth spurt he knew was looming over their horizon hit since the blade was only just barely long enough. Still, it would do for now.
Sukea grabbed some sword-cleaning supplies and headed out to join Kakashi at the training grounds.
Unrolling a scroll, Sukea seated himself on a nearby rock, roving his eyes over it while brushing off the worst of the dirt from his blade as he split his attention between his own tasks and Kakashi’s attempts at kenjutsu.
Kakashi stood a few paces away, his tanto glowing faintly with the Hatake clan’s distinctive chakra hue—a flickering white glow that seemed to pulse with each sharp, precise swing. Sukea’s grip tightened on his borrowed sword as the memory of his own shattered blade flashed through his mind.
Kakashi’s movements were confident, but they carried the stiffness of someone still learning and actively running through the motions rather than muscle memory.
It was good for his age but Sukea could already hear his ANBU instructor in his head nitpicking at every flaw. Too wide. Overextending. That stance is easy to break and is going to get you killed.
He exhaled quietly, focusing on the task at hand. Most of the dirt was gone now; proper maintenance could wait until later.
Eventually, Kakashi noticed him watching and called out, “Are we going to spar, or are you just going to sit there cleaning?”
Sukea stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders with a long, drawn-out groan. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
They moved into the first practice spar, and the difference in their skill was glaring from the start. Sukea’s experience in various kenjutsu forms gave him a clear advantage, while Kakashi was still stumbling through the basics, still learning, still building.
The match was brief. Kakashi was quickly left flat-footed, unable to keep up with Sukea’s fluid, well-executed strikes. Sukea couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to needle him. With an exaggerated sigh, he muttered, “I can’t believe you’re having trouble with the basics. It’s not that hard.”
Kakashi shot him a dirty look, his eyes burning with quiet frustration. He then stubbornly held up his sword for another round.
The next round, Sukea slowed his pace, limiting himself to the half-remembered Hatake basics and whatever moves Kakashi attempted—only to throw them back at him. It was an almost lazy approach on his part, mirroring each strike and block, adjusting his footwork to match Kakashi’s own.
Even without the Sharingan, Sukea was pretty good at picking up and copying new skills.
To be fair Kakashi, though, he seemed to know something was up with how much better he was doing this round however, it still took him at least 3 ‘surprise attacks’ before he realized exactly what was happening.
Kakashi’s stance faltered for a split second, a flash of understanding flickering behind his narrowed eyes. His next strike carried a little more bite, more accusation than technique. “You’re copying me,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
Sukea only grinned. “Took you long enough.”
The match continued, Kakashi now keenly aware of the game being played. He tried to throw in feints, abrupt shifts, anything to trip Sukea up, but each time, Sukea adjusted effortlessly, throwing the same move right back at him. It was both frustrating and instructive, forcing Kakashi to refine his techniques in real-time and giving Sukea a refresher of moves he should know.
They kept going, until Sukea—Feeling the telltale signs of fatigue in his younger body and seeing Kakashi start to struggle with them too—finally put a stop to the match. “Break time,” he announced, dodging what was probably meant to be a finishing blow but lacked the force to follow through.
Kakashi scowled but didn’t argue. His stance had been wavering, his arms slower to reset after each strike. Sukea knew firsthand how hard it was to admit when you’d reached your limit.
“Come on,” he added, already making his way toward the scattered scrolls. “We can go over some techniques while we rest.”
They settled onto the floor, rolling out the scrolls between them. Kakashi, despite his exhaustion, still had enough energy to glare down at the text as if willing it to reveal its secrets faster.
Sukea found a scroll that caught his attention. The technique described was similar to one he’d learned in ANBU, but tailored to the speed and agility the Hatake were known for. When he could feel his arms again, he ran through a few practice swings, and he found the snappiness of the movements felt surprisingly natural.
He supposed that was the point of clan techniques. Built to work with the natural traits of the families who develop them.
I should have used the Sharingan back then.
The thought hit him hard.
Back when he first had it, he had never even considered using it to memorize his family’s techniques. He had just assumed the knowledge would always be there, waiting for him to return to one day.
Until it wasn’t.
Most of his current skills were just copied from every inch of the nations. Some are very similar, but still not the same.
Sukea swallowed hard, forcing the thought away.
He had been meaning to find something to read, anyway… so if a few scrolls somehow made their way into his pockets, well—that was his own business.
—
When training was done, it only felt right to clean the house before they left. Air it out, sweep the floors, scrub the bathroom—fall back into the same ritual Sukea had once followed every morning before leaving for class.
Of course, the place had been left for so long that it truly needed two people to get through it all. Dust clung stubbornly to the floors, the walls, and the very air itself. The tatami mats had stiffened with neglect, and the kitchen smelled faintly of old wood and forgotten time. But they worked through it without complaint, settling into a quiet rhythm.
He’d lost sight of Kakashi at some point, saying he needed to get something.
Sukea didn’t question it.
By the time he reached the storage room again, he found himself standing in front of the weapons rack. His borrowed sword rested in his hand, and for a long moment, he simply stared at it, debating whether to put it back.
He should probably take it—if nothing else, it still needed cleaning and maintenance—but carrying a sword around would be a very sudden change, especially with the possible assumptions his sensei has.
Before he could reach a decision, something struck him hard in the side, knocking him slightly off balance.
Sukea turned sharply, instincts kicking in—but instead of an attack, he found Kakashi standing there, holding something impatiently.
Sukea blinked, thrown off for a moment.
Then recognition clicked. His old fishing rod. That’s probably why the boy disappeared. He went to go get it.
“Hurry up,” Kakashi said flatly, “We’ll be walking along the river on the way home. I’d like there to be some light left while we get dinner.”
Neither of them had training with their teams today, which meant no easy opportunity to bum lunch off someone else. They would have to fend for themselves.
How long had it been since this was his life?
Even after he could afford meals, Sukea had always been good at scrounging them off others so he hadn’t thought about it until now. But this was probably the time where he had developed the skill in the first place. At best, they’d be stuck in pure training for a few more weeks until Team 7 resumed D-ranks. At worst, longer.
The Hatake weren’t destitute, but they weren’t a large clan either. Most of their inheritance was tied up in land and heirlooms rather than liquid assets. And with Team 7 benched from missions due to training new genin, Sukea had probably decimated whatever savings Kakashi had left just by showing up. His timing was impeccable as always.
Tonight, it seems they were fishing.
It had been years since he’d had to live like this, but it was still leagues better than surviving off nothing but instant ramen—unlike a certain orange-wearing menace he could think of.
Sukea frowned thoughtfully. “I vaguely remember buying a few different rods until I found one I liked. Do we still have any of them?”
Kakashi tilted his head toward a corner of the storeroom. “Over there.”
Sukea rummaged through the pile, stumbling across a long fishing bag. He popped it open and examined the rod inside—adult-sized, the bag sized to match. One of his first purchases, back when he’d first read a book about fishing and wanted to try it out and so bought the first rod he found.
The size of the bag gave him an idea.
Slipping the fishing rod out, he carefully placed his sheathed sword in its place before scrounging around for a smaller rod to tuck in beside it. Then, satisfied with his makeshift carrying case, he slung it over his shoulder.
—
The river wasn’t far from the path home. They found a good spot where the water widened and ran deep, the current slow but steady. The late afternoon light danced over the surface.
Sukea set up his rod with practised ease, movements fluid, and effortless. He’d learned a thing or two from some of the more water-faring nations in his time. The line arced smoothly through the air before landing in the water with a faint plunk.
Kakashi watched him for a moment before setting up his own line beside him.
The river stretched before them, quiet and unhurried. The only sounds were the whisper of the breeze, the soft lapping of water against the shore.
This is a bit more of how he envisioned his retirement.
—
Sukea slipped out of his apartment early, leaving behind a messily written note for Kakashi. He deliberately avoided being spotted by Guy as he stood outside, likely awaiting to challenge Kakashi.
He wasn’t going to interfere with a good challenge. After all, they were eternal rivals—navigating their dynamic would do Kakashi more good than Sukea accidentally stealing him. Not that it would happen, Guy has too much loyalty for that.
The streets were quiet as he made his way to the cemetery, where Sukea crouched in front of his father’s gravestone, his movements methodical as he brushed away and pulled moss and weeds trying to take up residence on the stone. He pulled a cloth from his bag, dampened it with a small suiton, and carefully wiped down the engravings, ensuring the name and title carved into the stone gleamed clearly once more.
His quiet task gave him time to speak, recounting small, innocuous details of his days—the kind he regretted never telling his father. The cemetery's stillness made it feel like someone was listening, even if it was just his own mind filling the silence.
“Kakashi and I are learning your kenjutsu techniques,” he began, his voice steady but soft. “I’m letting him keep your sword. I don’t… I don’t really deserve it. Not after what happened to mine.” He paused, glancing at the dirt-streaked cloth in his hand before setting it aside. “I started cleaning up one of the older ones from the clan storage. It’s nothing like yours, but… it’ll do.”
Reaching behind him, Sukea unsheathed the short sword and laid it carefully on the ground. He had started carrying it without saying much to anyone, though it saw little use outside of training with Kakashi.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if waiting for an answer he knew wouldn’t come. The silence stretched, broken only by the breeze rustling the leaves. He smiled faintly and went on.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to take better care of it.” With a small chuckle, he picked up a fresh cloth and began polishing the blade now that his father's headstone and the area around it was as clean as he could get it.
His hands moved instinctively as he continued speaking. “I haven’t seen much of Kakashi’s team lately. He says they’re doing fine, though I think he’s itching to get back to missions. They’re still working on the basics. Probably will be on D-ranks when they start again. I think Minato-sensei has been doing lesson plans with Choza-sensei because our teams sound like they are working on similar lessons.”
The cemetery remained still, a sacred space where his words felt more like a prayer than conversation.
Then, something shifted.
A flicker of familiar chakra.
Sukea stilled, his senses sharpening. “Speaking of Kakashi’s team…” he murmured, quickly gathering his things and slipping behind a cluster of trees.
Obito jogged into the clearing, slowing when he saw the grave he had been coming to tend already cleaned. His expression scrunched up in confusion before he shook it off, stepping forward to pay his respects. His voice, though quieter than usual, was still full of the same boundless energy as he spoke to the stone before him. Then, just as quickly, he spun on his heel and darted off, likely off to another errand before training.
Sukea lingered only a moment longer before standing. He cast one last glance at his father’s grave before deciding, on a whim, to follow.
Obito ran through the streets with an ease that spoke of familiarity, weaving his way back into the Uchiha district. Sukea trailed him at a careful distance, slipping through the shadows as seamlessly as breathing. No non-Uchiha are allowed inside their district without permission, but that only made the challenge more interesting. His ANBU training made it easy enough to stay out of sight, and with a little effort, he found a vantage point that let him observe without being seen.
Obito came to a stop in front of an older Uchiha woman, who turned toward him with mild surprise.
“You’re on time today,” she noted, her voice laced with amusement.
Obito scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m always on time.”
She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced, but let it slide. Obito was then leading her back out of the Uchiha district.
Sukea followed from a distance,
They were shopping, he realized after a few blocks. The woman—The Granny Obito often attributes to his lateness, perhaps?—led the way as they picked up groceries, chatting all the while.
“Training has been going well,” Obito was saying, puffing up slightly. “Rin and I are making real progress!”
The woman hummed in response, sorting through some vegetables. “And your other teammate? Usually, most genin teams have 3 members, unless that has changed in the years since I retired.”
Obito made a noise of irritation. “Him? Ugh. He’s such a little know-it-all! Always acting like he’s so much smarter than the rest of us. It’s annoying!”
Sukea raised an eyebrow at the comment.
If Obito is going to be flinging insults around, he may as well face some of the consequences for it.
In one smooth motion, Sukea ducked into an alley, stuffing his wig into his bag, picking off the remnants of face paint, and peeling off his outer shirt. He pulls up the mask on his undershirt and adjusts his fishing bag to be slung across his back like Kakashi’s sword, effectively looking a bit more like what Kakashi would probably wear today.
With that, he stepped back onto the street—directly into Obito’s path.
The effect was immediate.
“Wha—?! Kakashi?! What are you doing here?!” Obito sputtered, nearly dropping the bag in his hands.
“I’m on my way to training.” Sukea crossed his arms, letting his voice take on an unimpressed edge. “Like you should be.”
Obito’s mouth opened, ready to argue, but then he hesitated. His expression flickered with suspicion before he checked the time.
His face paled.
He was definitely going to be late.
Obito looked between his grandmother and the half-filled shopping bags with mounting dread.
Before Sukea could make his next move, a voice interrupted—calm, polite, but with the kind of firmness that expected immediate attention.
“Excuse me, young man.”
Sukea found himself under the piercing gaze of the elderly Uchiha woman. Her dark eyes swept over him, assessing with a quiet sharpness. She looked at him the way a veteran shinobi sized up an opponent. Sukea did not meet her eyes. She was Uchiha. And not being careful around an Uchiha is precisely what got him sent back in time in the first place.
“You’re on Obito’s team, correct?” The woman's question almost sounded like a command.
Sukea inclined his head. “Correct.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He gestured vaguely at Obito. “Apparently, I’m the ‘little know-it-all.’”
Obito made a strangled noise of pure betrayal, spinning toward him with wide, mortified eyes. Why would you say that?! his expression screamed.
His grandmother sighed, unimpressed. “I see. I wasn’t aware he was also showing up late to training. Can you tell me what Obito’s schedule actually looks like? I don’t think I’ve gotten a straight answer from him.”
Sukea nearly met her eyes in shock—caught himself just in time. Instead, he fixed his gaze just above, focusing on the edge of her brow.
Obito groaned dramatically. “I told you—I help when you need it, Granny! You don’t have to worry about my schedule!”
“Training starts in fifteen minutes,” Sukea supplied. “Minato-sensei sets it for the same time Monday through Friday.”
The older woman pursed her lips. “So I have been holding him up. Obito should know it these trips take at least an hour…” A beat passed before she added, “What about clan training? Shouldn’t there be a day dedicated to working on family techniques?”
“Minato-sensei is clanless, he’s been a bit slow to set them up.” Sukea replied automatically to her commanding tone. “Last I heard, he was still trying to find someone to coordinate with for Obito. Mine is self-paced, so I don’t have a fixed schedule.”
Obito’s grandmother frowned. “Obito! I gave you a letter of recommendation for your sensei so he could discuss your training with the clan! My sister and I have both offered to train you. I thought he was ignoring us, or that he’d found you someone better!”
Obito flinched. “Minato-sensei’s training is fine! And I have been practising Uchiha techniques! I just—”
Obito’s grandmother squinted her eyes suspiciously at him. “Don’t tell me you purposely didn’t give him the letter just so you wouldn’t have to train separately from that Rin girl.”
Obito’s face immediately flushed, and he started spluttering. “I’m not doing it on purpose! I just… forgot! And Rin is really nice, and she helps me train, and—!”
“You are an Uchiha,” his grandmother cut in, unimpressed. “You need to stop smothering her before you get too attached.”
At that, Sukea abruptly realized he had inserted himself into a very personal family matter—one he had absolutely no interest in witnessing. Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and started walking away.
“Hey! Where are you going, Bakashi?!” Obito called after him.
“Training.”
“Oh, and before I forget—Hatake-kun,” Obito’s grandmother called out.
Sukea froze mid-step. The way she addressed him—pleasantly, but with that shrewd gleam in her eyes—made it clear she had pieced together exactly who he was, despite the lack of a proper introduction. It was as if she wasn’t watching him make a clear attempt to escape.
“I’ll need to keep stealing Obito before training until Wednesday at the latest,” she said, as if this was already a settled matter. “Let your sensei know, will you? After that, I should be able to arrange something that fits his schedule better.”
Sukea had no idea how to respond to that.
He made a vague, noncommittal noise before flickering away to change.
—
Choza slumped into his seat at the barbecue restaurant, his favourite meeting spot with the rest of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio. He let out a long, tired sigh, drawing Shikaku’s attention as his teammate roused from his usual pre-meal nap. Shikaku’s sharp eyes flicked to Choza’s worn expression, and despite not everyone being there yet, he raised a hand to flag down a server.
“Tell the chef Choza’s here and it looks like he’s had a bad day so we’ll need double the usual.” he said blandly before turning his attention back to his friend. “Do I even want to know what’s making you pull that face?”
Choza groaned and rubbed his temples. "Shikaku, I think one of my students is trying to drive me to an early retirement."
Shikaku raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as he waited for Choza to continue.
“He’s been showing up late to training. And recently, he tricked one of his teammates into delivering this.” Choza pulled a crumpled note from his pocket and handed it to Shikaku, who raised an eyebrow at the scribbled message.
The note read: “Taking you up on organizing clan lessons. ~Sukea” In the corner of the page, there was a messy doodle of a henohenomoheji.
“And then he just didn’t turn up,” Choza continued, clearly exasperated.
“Then punish him for falling behind,” Shikaku said bluntly.
Choza shook his head in frustration. “That’s the problem—he’s not falling behind. If anything, he’s ahead of the others. Might even be better already.” He sighed, barely noticing when the food arrived. Automatically, he started grilling meat, eating distractedly as though it might help with his mood.
“Prodigy?” Shikaku guessed with a smirk.
“Apparently,” Choza muttered, stabbing at the grill with his chopsticks. “The Academy didn’t even notice.”
Shikaku snorted. “Didn’t notice, or didn’t say anything?”
Choza hesitated. “He avoided it on purpose. Told me to ‘ask a Nara’ why he wouldn’t want the label.”
Shikaku sighed, looking at the note again. “Sukea. That’s the Hatake boy, right?”
Choza nodded, his mouth now too full to reply immediately.
“Well, there’s your answer,” Shikaku said with a shrug. “Smart boy. Being labelled a prodigy is like slapping a giant target on your back. If he’s going out of his way to avoid looking like a Hatake, he sure as hell isn’t going to want the attention that label brings.”
Choza frowned. “That explains why he was hiding his skill, but why start acting out now? He was fine at first.”
Shikaku tilted his head. “What kind of training are you doing?”
“Standard chakra training. The same plan I helped Minato put together,” Choza replied.
Shikaku tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I’m no Yamanaka, but I’d bet it’s one of two things. Either he’s bored, or that’s just the way he is, and he’s only now letting his guard down enough to be himself.”
Before Choza could respond, a flash of yellow caught his eye. Expecting Inoichi, he was surprised to see Minato Namikaze approaching their table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Minato began, cheerfully thankful, “I just wanted to thank you again for helping with my lesson plans, Choza. They worked really well today! Especially since I figured out something for Kakashi to do so he and Obito wouldn’t end up fighting and derailing everything… again, But, uh… you don’t look so great. Everything okay?” his cheerful tone faltering slightly at the end.
Shikaku waved him off lazily. “Don’t worry. Choza’s just having some growing pains with one of his students.”
“Oh no,” Minato said, his face morphing into a look of genuine concern. “They’re not fighting, are they? I can barely handle two boys. You have three.”
Choza shook his head tiredly. “No, thankfully, they get along like a house on fire. It’s Sukea, the youngest. He’s just… acting out.”
Shikaku smirked. “Actually, Minato, you probably have more experience with this than us. He discovered the kids a prodigy. Being one yourself and having one on your team, you might be able to help with this one. I think Choza’s kid is either bored or lazy.”
“Shikaku…” Choza warned, but his teammate ignored him.
Minato blinked, then brightened. “Sukea? Oh! That’s Kakashi’s friend who looks a bit like Rin! I didn’t know he was a prodigy too!”
Choza blinked at the description, his mind involuntarily comparing Sukea’s appearance to that of the girl on Minato’s team. Now that Minato mentioned it, the resemblance was there—superficial, but undeniable.
That was a little tid-bit of information that just gave him more questions.
“That reminds me,” Choza said slowly, deciding to beat around the bush in hopes something useful falls out. “How’s Rin doing after that little training accident?”
“She’s doing great! Thankfully she’s completely forgiven Sukea since they were apparently friends in the kunoichi classes and she’s even using the injury as an opportunity to get a head start on learning healing jutsu,” Minato replied, his tone proud.
“Is she a prodigy too?” He prods.
“Not quite, but she is the best Kunoichi of her year.” Minato admits, “Sometimes I feel like she’s the only reason the boys haven’t gotten into anything worse than screaming matches with each other. But enough about my kids I don’t want to sound like I bragging when you're having problems with yours!” Minato insists.
Choza can’t help but consider, ‘Is Sukea copying his peers?’ He did notice the boy somehow shared the same impossible enthusiasm as Guy when they were together. This is something he should probably bring up with Inoichi when he gets here…
Choza hesitated, then decided there was no harm in airing his most recent frustration since Minato was aware of a connection with their students, even if he only thought they were friends. “Lately, Sukea’s started being late to practice. I’m worried it’s becoming a pattern. A few times even completely skipping training. Apparently, he went to train with Kakashi instead...”
Minato winced in sympathy at hearing one of his students started being late but then really apologetic when he mentioned skipping to train with Kakashi. “Skipping to train with Kakashi? I’m so sorry about that! I’ll talk to him if you want?”
Choza shook his head, sighing. “No need. I had technically been encouraging them to train together since they work so well together. It’s more the suddenness I have an issue with. But thanks for the offer, Minato.”
Minato smiled apologetically. “I could give you a heads-up next time I suggest individual or clan training for Kakashi, if that helps? Maybe even do another group training session to see if that changes anything?”
“That … might actually help. Thanks, Minato,” Choza said, relieved.
Minato gave a sunny smile in response.